


Just One Last Time Again

by muchmorethanaprincess



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Smut, Some Plot, canonverse, slight angst, smut with feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-13
Updated: 2015-10-13
Packaged: 2018-04-26 04:26:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4990159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muchmorethanaprincess/pseuds/muchmorethanaprincess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Waking up to Clarke in the morning is like a dream.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just One Last Time Again

**Author's Note:**

> This is dedicated to Ania (katefullxr on tumblr) because she wrote the tweets that inspired it this morning.  
> Title is from the song "Trouble I'm In" by Twinbed, which is hella bellarke. Go listen to it and cry.

Bellamy wakes up slowly, to feather-light touches, a breeze moving through his tent as a small, soft hand traces over his shoulder. He’s splayed on his stomach, his eyes pressed closed, savoring the dregs of sleep before the rest of camp starts waking up.

The hand moves lower, dancing over his shoulder blades and spine before coming to rest on his ass, but he’s distracted suddenly by the lips brushing over his skin. He sighs at the warm, gentle pressure, but when the mouth latches onto his neck, sucking and dragging teeth across his flesh, his body heat ratchets upward and a groan slips up his throat.

Her hair brushes against his skin, and it’s that small sensation that makes him turn over.

“Clarke,” he murmurs, already incredibly turned on as he looks up at her, her face framed by fuzzy morning light as she hovers over him. Her hair is chopped short around her chin, and he reaches to touch a golden strand.

“Morning,” she says, her voice light and happy, a tiny smile on her face.

Her bright eyes glance down to Bellamy’s lips, and he smirks. When she notices, she dives down to his chest, kissing a burning trail to his stomach, biting at his ribs and letting her breasts brush against him until he groans and grabs at her, pulling her over him, and she’s the one smirking now, but he doesn’t care. He leans up to catch her lips with his, sighing when she meets him halfway and matches him in enthusiasm.

She’s straddling him before he can even think, grinding against him and making him gasp into her mouth. She giggles, running her fingers over his chest. He feels like she’s everywhere, the sensations lighting up his body as he reaches for every bit of her available skin.

He’s not sure where their clothes go—were they wearing clothes? But he doesn’t care because suddenly they’re skin to skin, Clarke’s heat sliding over his cock, her short moans filling the air around them, and she won’t even let him do more to work her up, just sinks down onto him and lets out the most delicious noise he’s ever heard, choking on her breath in the middle of it.

She’s hot and wet and the most perfect thing Bellamy’s ever felt, and he lays back while she rolls her hips against his, thrusting up into her while he grips her ass with one hand and reaches for her breasts with the other. She arches her back to push into his touch, sighing in relief, and he’s breathing heavily, feeling sweat prickle on the back of his neck.

Her hands are fisted against his chest, and when she digs her nails into his skin, he murmurs, “fuck, Clarke,” on the end of a groan. He doesn’t miss the way her eyes widen and her cunt clenches around him, her hips stuttering in their rhythm before she can pick it back up again.

Bellamy can’t stop looking at her, the eye contact scorching as her mouth gapes in pleasure. She moves her hands to his hair, gripping tightly as her chest falls against his, and when she buries her face against his neck, he keeps talking, alternating between the romantic and the filthy, telling her how gorgeous she is, how fucking good it feels to be inside her, how being with her feels more like home than any place he’s ever been, how the noises she’s making are the hottest thing he’s ever heard, and he can tell she likes it when he talks to her like this.

She bites his neck in retaliation, sucking a bruise into the skin, making him break off in the middle of a word. She moves back to hover over his face, and he knows it’s just a trick of the light, but she looks like she’s _glowing_ , and Bellamy laughs softly, completely happy. She kisses him, seemingly agreeing as her hips keep pumping. Her tongue in his mouth is completely distracting, but he manages to move his hand down to thumb at her clit. Satisfaction courses through him as she gasps loudly, resting her forehead against his as she pulls away from his lips panting.

“God, Bell, I can’t-” she mutters, her hips losing their rhythm. She tugs on his shoulder, and he understands, pushing up on his elbows to flip them over.

“Better?” he asks, but she can only answer with a long moan as he thrusts into her forcefully. He keeps a relentless pace until she comes, her hands tugging sharply at his hair as her hips jolt up against his.

She sighs and lies back, looking utterly satisfied, moaning softly through the aftershocks of her climax and watching him adoringly as he keeps pushing into her. She strokes the side of his face, but her smile changes into something bittersweet, and just when he’s almost there, she blinks and says, “I’m sorry that I have to go.”

“What?” he breathes, confused.

She fades just before he comes, the rest of the dream popping and dimming after.

He wakes up in his own mess, facedown on the bed and completely alone. He rolls over to his back and stares at the dark ceiling of his tent.

“Fuck.”

* * *

Octavia nearly punches him in the nose that day, because he’s so fucking grumpy with everyone and “what the hell has gotten into you?” she demands, after he’s yelled at one of the delinquents for practically no reason.

But he can’t explain to her that he dreamed Clarke into existence last night, that she was so real and tangible and he can practically still feel her thighs under his hands, but he woke up without the hickeys that should have been on his neck.

He can’t tell Octavia that the girl who used to be his co-leader plagued his dreams last night, and to be honest he wouldn’t mind if it happened again. It’s hellish to wake up and realize she isn’t there, wasn’t real, hasn’t actually come home to him, but he’d deal with it again if it meant more dreams where she’s healthy and smiling and _with him_.

Octavia glares at him the rest of the day, and most of camp keeps a wide berth. He stews in his bitterness and worry, because Clarke could be dead for all he knows, and when he gets in bed that night, he groans because he can still almost feel her hands in his hair, and he misses her, and he hopes that somewhere in the world, she’s missing him too.

* * *

He runs into her in the woods only a few weeks later, and his first thought is that he must be more sleep deprived that he realized, to be hallucinating her. But the longer he looks at her, the more he realizes—like that she’s horribly skinny, and her skin has a pallor over it that makes her look only half-alive, and her hair is still long, but matted and covered in dirt.

They both stare at each other like startled deer. Clarke’s eyes are wide, and duller than Bellamy remembers, and he feels like he might fall over at the ragged sight of her.

And he’s spooked, because she can’t have been _this close_ all this time, right? He’s only a mile or so out of camp, and he’s sure he would have noticed her tracks or found her sooner if she’d been staying here. Which leads him to only two conclusions—that she’s there to check up on them without anyone noticing, or she’s…

He pushes away the hope that rises in him, but he can’t stop himself from speaking.

“Are you-” he pauses, unsure how to phrase what he’s asking. He finds it after a moment.

“Are you coming home?” He tries not to think about his dream from weeks ago, how _she_ felt like home to him. How he wants to feel like home to her.

Clarke blinks, as if she’s trying to hold back tears. But a moment later she lifts her chin and holds his eye contact, like she’s expecting him to fight her on it.

“That’s the plan,” she says.

He might be angry, and unbelievably frustrated with her, but he’s not going to tell her no.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you think! Comments are fuel for writers :)


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